


Kneel

by Romiress



Category: Vinland Saga (Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Casual Murder, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/pseuds/Romiress
Summary: A look at what might have happened in those years before the battle of Maldon.Implied Askeladd/Bjorn, but you can read it as shippy or friendship at your pleasure.A birthday gift for Karaii, who is lovely all around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karaii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karaii/gifts).



Askeladd stares down at the pile of gold, far more irritated than he is impressed. There’s enough there for every single member of the band to have a good handful, but he suspects that by the time everything is handed out, he’ll be lucky to get even a single shiny coin.

Sometimes being at the bottom of the barrel is just awful.

No matter how well he does, his big mouth has made absolutely sure that Geir isn’t ever going to recognize any of it.

Sometimes Askeladd hates being right.

He isn’t even surprised when his guess about the gold turns out to be right. Geir somehow manages to distribute it all, and when the time comes for Askeladd to get his share--even though he did the most dangerous work--he’s still the very last in line.

He gets one gold coin, and it isn’t even shiny.

Staring down at the coin, Askeladd decides then and there that he’s going to kill Geir. Not right then, of course. Killing Geir even in a properly sanctioned duel would only lead to bad places. If he’s lucky, the band will fall apart. If he’s not, the band will decide to lynch him, put Ivar in charge, and carry on their merry way.

No, he needs to take Geir apart. He needs to turn the band against him so that when it finally comes time to shove his sword down Geir’s wretched throat, no one will even bat an eye.

It’s harder than it looks though. The band is loyal to Geir by design, and the man is always quick to promote anyone who pays him any lip service. Most like Askeladd who don’t decide to leave the band at the first opportunity. Even so, he suspects there’s at least a few who aren’t terribly happy with their revered leader, and Askeladd spends his time trying to sniff them out.

No one sensible wants to be seen talking with him, so it’s slow going.

After a month, Askeladd decides to change tack. Working from within the band isn’t going to work, which means he needs to start from the outside. He needs to find someone strong who he can count on to have his back, and that person needs to have absolutely no allegiance to Geir for his plan to work.

Askeladd bides his time and waits. There are a lot of decent options, but Askeladd can’t settle on a decent option. Every battle they fight in only cements the fact that if his plan fails, he’ll be lucky to end up dead.

It’s not until almost three months after he first stood in front of that pile of gold that he finds the target.

Geir’s band has taken up position around a valley, and the main part of the band is currently cutting their way through the center of the enemy's forces. Askeladd himself is relegated to the sidelines as usual, holding a position on the east end of the valley where he’s least likely to see any action.

It’s the safest place he can be in, but if no one comes anywhere near him, he’s not going to get paid.

The position pays off though. As he watches the tide of battle wobble back and forth, his eyes pick out a single figure that’s literally cutting his way through the right flank of the band. Even at a distance Askeladd can tell that the man is very good.

It’s not until the man tips back his head and lets out a beastial roar that even Askeladd can hear that he realizes that the man is a berserker, mad with battle rage and showing no signs of stopping.

Askeladd has to fight the urge to skip as he ducks over to where Steinar stands nervously.

“You should be in position,” Steinar says, glancing around as if to be sure no one is watching them.

“No one’s coming up here,” Askeladd says casually. “Do you see that berserker?”

Steinar evidently did not, because he immediately cranes his neck, scanning the battlefield helplessly until Askeladd points the man out.

“I bet Geir has already got his sights on the man. He’d be a fool to pass someone that good up, and Geir is no fool,” Askeladd says, his voice downright reverential.

Steinar gives him a long look, as if shocked to hear Askeladd say anything kind about Geir at all, but finally he nods.

“He would be.”

Thirty minutes later, Askeladd’s nugget of wisdom has been passed around the line, every man taking credit for themselves. He does his best to look surprised when Eirik rides along the line calling for him, and he double times it over as directed.

“I have a job for you,” Geir says, and Askeladd tries his best to look sombre. Really he just wants to kick up his heels and laugh in joy, because the plan is going perfectly.

“There’s a berserk down there,” Geir says, and Askeladd turns his head, squinting as if searching for the man. “I want you to recruit him for the band.”

“Me?” Askeladd says, feigning confusion. “But I have no rank here. Wouldn’t it be better for someone like Eirik to recruit them?”

Eirik looks pleased with having been mentioned at all, settling back on his horse.

It’s completely ridiculous that he’s even on the horse, but Eirik is shorter than Askeladd by a foot and he suspects the horse is compensating for that.

“In another situation, yes,” Geir says with a nasty little smile. “But the man is in a battle rage, and if he’s going to stab someone, it’s better that it be someone disposable.”

Several of Geir’s cronies burst out laughing, and Askeladd feigns fear, biting his tongue to keep from pointing out the half million issues with Geir’s logic. The man is giving him a gift, even if he doesn’t know it. The first person to bring someone into a band matters a lot, and Geir isn’t thinking about that at all.

He’s expecting Askeladd to recruit the man and be done with him, but Askeladd has other plans.


	2. Chapter 2

The battle is all but over by the time Askeladd is sent down. The majority of the enemy army is dead, and the few remaining are being captured. People have mercifully stopped fighting the berserker, one of the smarter of Geir’s men having called them back.

The berserker stands in a field of corpses, panting heavily. He has some wounds, but they’re only slight, and he seems to have lots focus on what he’s supposed to be doing.

There’s no enemies to kill, so he simply stands there, his eyes strange and unfocused.

“Well, if I die, remember me fondly,” Askeladd quips as he pushes his way through the ring of men. They’re all well clear of the man, a loose circle that’s just far enough out of range to keep the berserker from charging.

“He’s just one man,” Askeladd comments over his shoulder. “I’d head up to Geir if I were you.”

None of the men jumps at his offer, but when Askeladd starts to stride towards the berserker and the giant of a man swings his head around, to look at Askeladd, every other member of the band decides to be elsewhere very quickly.

Very soon Askeladd is alone on the battlefield, the hulking man before him his only company.

He has a theory, and it’s not until the man starts to lurch towards him that he decides he’s willing to bet his life on it.

He keeps his hand off the handle of his sword, even though it hangs at his side, and stares down the man as he approaches.

He isn’t actually that big--he’s only got an inch on Askeladd if that--but his armor, helmet, and general demeanor do a great job of making him look even larger than he is.

Realizing that only strengthens his conviction, and he keeps his hands at his sides as the man draws ever closer.

“You did an excellent job, I’d say. If I hadn’t been sent down and you started to wander off, they’d probably have just let you go rather than bothering to fight you. Taking down one man isn’t worth the number of lives a berserker would take,” Askeladd comments, casual as can be.

The berserker’s head shifts ever so slightly, his eyes snapping to Askeladd’s own even as he keeps his position.

“This was a long battle, and it’d be inconvenient if you stayed in your rage for too long. But then you came to and the battle was still going, so it was easier to keep pretending to give yourself some space, am I right?” Askeladd asks, unable to keep the smile off his face.

Geir won't be able to see it anyway at such a distance. The next closest member of his band is a good two hundred feet away, and still looks convinced he’s too close.

The berserker doesn’t say a thing, even if he’s certainly looking at Askeladd.

“If it helps, I didn’t say anything to anyone. Which means if you recover, it’s because I talked you out of the state, which would be excellent for me,” Askeladd adds.

“What’s in it for me?” The man finally says, his mouth barely moving.

“They want me to recruit you,” Askeladd says simply. “Which would mean you not getting taken prisoner or shot full of holes.”

“And what would stop me from splitting you in half and then letting myself come to my senses to barter?” The man says.

Askeladd lets out a snort at that, amused.

“Nothing, really. But you’d be missing out on quite a good opportunity,” Askeladd says.

Apparently quite a good opportunity is convincing enough, because the man shifts ever so slightly, shaking his head and starting to straighten up. He looks more like a man and less like a monster, and out of the corner of his eye Askeladd can see the closest man relax.

The man’s hand is still holding his sword though, so Askeladd keeps his guard up, even if he’s still unarmed.

He doubts he could draw fast enough to keep the man from skewering him, which means his mouth is the only thing keeping him alive.

“And what opportunity would that be?” The man says.

The rabbit has it’s foot in the snare, but the trap hasn’t quite sprung yet.

“To side with me. The band is run by a man named Geir, and he wants you for his own. He’s seen you in battle and knows you’re skilled, and he wants to make you one of his men. But I also want to make you one of my men. Making a band on your own is difficult to do. People don’t want to sign up with an empty band, so you have to pay everyone ridiculous shares to get them to sign on. It’s far easier to take over an existing band and use that as a base. So, side with me, and you can slide into place as my second in command when I take over the entire thing.”

The man tilts back his head and laughs at that, deep and so loud that Askeladd’s ears hurt.

The man laughs almost as well as he uses a sword.

“And why, exactly, would I do that? You’ve just confessed to planning treason, and I could gain a lot by outing you to your leader. So why should I side with you at all?” The man asks, his face set in a wide, amused smile.

Every single word out of Askeladd’s mouth has lead to this, and he feels sweet vindication when he finally gets a chance to play his perfect card.

“You don’t have to,” Askeladd says simply. “You don’t have to side with anyone at all. Accept Geir’s proposal and join the band. Observe. Watch Geir. Watch the men he surrounds himself with. Watch me. And after your first battle, then we’ll talk again, and I have no doubt you’ll be eager to swear yourself to me.”

The man’s smile is gone, his eyebrows pressed tightly together as he considers. He’s looking for a trap, Askeladd suspects, but there isn’t one. There’s no disadvantage to accepting Askeladd’s offer, which is the real beauty of it. There’s no reason to say no, which gives Askeladd all the time in the world.

“Alright,” the man finally says. “We’ll speak again after the next battle, then.”

He doesn’t seem nearly as confident as he did only a few minutes before, but he shakes it off after a moment.

“My name is Bjorn,” the man says by way of introduction, and Askeladd decides that bear is a very fitting name for the man.

“I look forward to seeing you again then,” Askeladd says.

He doesn’t bother to introduce himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Askeladd doesn’t have to do _anything_. There’s no need for plotting, no need for master plans. He simply carries on as he always does and lets the band prove his point for him.

Rather than spending the hour after the battle looting, he spends it being lectured by one of Geir’s men. The fact that he saved the life of one of the new recruits matters infinitely less than the fact that he disobeyed Ivar to do so, and Askeladd simply stands there and takes the lecture, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

He can feel Bjorn watching him.

The man’s already established himself as a force within the band, and even after a single battle Askeladd can already feel lines being drawn in the sand.

Every single one of Geir’s men wants Bjorn at their side, but if Askeladd’s pegged the man right--which he’s sure he has--then Askeladd won’t tolerate any of them.

Bjorn seems like a man who wants _results_ , and none of Geir’s men care about results half as much as they care about impressing Geir.

It’s black as pitch outside when Bjorn finds him, and it’s so dark that it isn’t until the man speaks that Askeladd is able to identify who has found their way over to where he’s standing guard.

“You were right,” Bjorn says, and Askeladd feels a sense of smug relief in his gut.

He’s always right, of course.

“It’s a good band,” Askeladd says. “A good core. But there’s rot in it, like an old tree that’s almost hollow. If we want to make anything of it, we have to get rid of the rot, and that means Geir and those who follow him. Some will swing to the side of whoever is in charge, which makes them less of a threat, but it doesn’t make them useful either. People who can’t think for themselves aren’t good as anything more than fodder.”

Bjorn’s face is almost impossible to read in the dark, but Askeladd can see the man cross his arms over his chest as he listens.

“Aren’t there supposed to be two men on guard duty?” Bjorn asks, glancing to each side as if expecting to see someone returning from a trip to the bushes.

“Olav is supposed to be on duty, but he’s in with Geir. He just sleeps through his shift. If I wake him, he gives me hell. If I complain, he says that _I_ was the one sleeping, and Geir believes him. It’s to my advantage to let him sleep, so I do. Lets me do what I want, and no one complains because they’re busy feeling smug because they _won_.”

Bjorn lets out the smallest of snorts.

“You’re a conniving fellow, aren’t you?” Bjorn asks, and Askeladd grins to himself, hidden by the darkness.

“You could say that,” Askeladd says, and then he sets himself to explaining the nasty business to come.

* * *

 

Bjorn has been with the band for less than a month, but already Askeladd can see him sliding into place. It’s to Askeladd’s advantage that Bjorn gives no sign of liking him at all, avoiding him at meals the same way everyone else does.

It’s for the best if his allegiance seems to come at the last possible minute. If no one suspects Bjorn has sided with him, Askeladd knows things will go all the better.

His largest concern was that Bjorn would balk at the nasty business to come, but when he breaks Eirik’s back in a training accident and spares Askeladd only the tiniest glance, Askeladd knows he’s hit gold.

No one blames Bjorn for the accident, and they bury Eirik a few days later, mourning the loss.

It becomes a frantic game of oneupmanship, and Askeladd is delighted to find that Bjorn is very nearly a match for him.

To avoid the worries of a _curse_ , Askeladd avoids too many accidents. For the most part, he simply picks out those who he thinks can be swayed, and sways them against Geir. Not to his side, of course, but to the side of an _opponent_ , someone who might lead the band better. He plants the seeds carefully, confident in the knowledge that none of them would ever consider _him_  as a leader.

None of them would even guess at what he’s planning.

He catches up with Bjorn late at nights, visiting the man on his patrols and being visited in turn on his own. It’s strange to have someone else, and everything about it feels strange and tenuous.

Things could go wrong at any moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Bjorn favors _waiting_ , but Askeladd isn’t interested in waiting. Not when larger bands are starting to stir. Not when there’s rumors of a _real_  raid on England in the near future.

“We should wait,” Bjorn says, his back leaned against a tree. The moon’s out, which requires a far greater level of alertness, but there’s been no sign of anyone for almost a half hour.

“If we wait, we miss our chance. Take control soon. Follow the king to England. Take their lands and make a name for ourselves,” Askeladd responds, and Bjorn lets out a little sigh.

“You’re too hasty, Askeladd. Too quick to want an army. Patience would serve you better.”

“Patience would drive me mad,” Askeladd retorts. “Geir’s head has gotten even larger as of late, and his complete inability to even _notice_  what’s happening just means we should take advantage of that ignorance. Who does he have left, even?”

“Ivar. Harald,” Bjorn says. “But Ivar is good with an ax, and Harald is no pushover either. If it’s us against them, we’ll have a hard time of it.”

Askeladd doesn’t want to listen to the odds. Bjorn has never seen him _really_  fight, never seen him do anything beyond what was required of him. He’s kept his cards close to his chest.

“Then we take out Ivar, and I challenge Geir. Harald will leave the band on his own, and everyone else will swing to our side, following your lead,” Askeladd says, cleaning his sword methodically as he talks.

“And what then?”

Askeladd has always known the _what then_ , but he has every intention of keeping _that_  close to his chest as well.

“Then we keep the band together. We replace Geir’s men by ones and twos, and then the band is completely ours,” Askeladd says, mentioning nothing of what happens after.

Bjorn is silent for a moment, and then changes the subject.

“Do you think you can beat Geir by yourself?” Bjorn asks, and Askeladd snorts.

“Do you think I survived so long on the bottom of this shitpile if I couldn’t handle myself, Bjorn?”

Bjorn’s position is a good one. Even after three months, no one in the band even knows that they’ve spoken. If something goes wrong--if Askeladd takes a sword to the gut for example--Bjorn simply has to do nothing and he’s spared from any possible fallout.

There’s another option to. The option where Askeladd wins, taking Geir down, and Bjorn simply steps up to challenge him. As useful as Bjorn has been, Askeladd suspects that _that_  is his game. He can’t imagine a better situation for Bjorn, and it means he has to hold back fighting Geir rather than simply taking the man’s head off.

He has to make sure Bjorn has no idea just how strong he is.

* * *

 

Ivar dies in battle, a sword through his chest. No one bats an eyebrow at it, not even the slightest suspicion that something strange might have happened.

But people are nervous anyway. Ivar’s been second in command since long before Askeladd joined, and having the balance of power tipped so obviously makes people edgy.

No one is expecting Askeladd to stand up once everything’s settled down and challenge Geir for control of the band.

The initial reaction is little more than stunned silence, but eventually laughter breaks through. More than one person simply assumes he’s joking, but a few--those who he’s ever so carefully turned against Geir over the past month--abruptly look nervous.

They know he’s not playing. They know he means it when he challenges Geir to combat for control of the band.

Geir himself seems more confused than anything. His lack of foresight has always been his greatest weakness, and Askeladd’s sure that he won’t _really_  believe it’s happening until there’s a sword through his throat.

Geir still looks like he doesn’t believe it when Askeladd draws his sword, and Askeladd has to try not to laugh as the man draws his own.

Geir has spent years sitting on his ass and living off the skills of others, and there’s no question in his mind that he can take Geir apart with ease. He’s been practicing. He’s had reasons to fight.

He’s had years of training under someone who is actually _good._ Plenty of people would scoff at the idea of formal training, but Askeladd has no doubt it’s helped him greatly.

Even so, he makes it look like a struggle. He lets Geir get a few shallow hits in, lets the man feel like he might just win. The rest of the band forms a tight circle around them, hooting and jeering as they watch.

More than half can’t quite seem to decide who they want to win, but plenty are simply excited for a fight at all.

They want blood.

Askeladd gives it to them. He abruptly steps into Geir’s swing, knocking the man off balance before dragging his sword up.

He takes Geir’s head nearly clean off, splattering himself with blood, and the crowd goes abruptly silent.

The only noise is Geir’s body thumping to the ground.

Askeladd takes his time deciding what to say, cleaning off his sword before sheathing it.

It’s not that he isn’t sure what to say, but instead that he isn’t sure _which_  thing to say.

Too many options, and only one chance to use any of them.

“Geir is dead,” he finally says. “Which puts me in charge of the band. If anyone objects, now would be the time to speak up. If not, I have every intention of running the band far better than he did. I plan to reorganize the ranks after the next battle, basing things on _ability in the field_  rather than your ability to kiss my ass. Olaf Tryggvason plans to raid England, and I have every intention of sailing with him.”

He’s set riches at their feet, and all they have to do is bend down and pick it up.

But Bjorn is still there. Bjorn still has his chance. All he has to do is declare that _he_  is the one most fit to lead the band, and then they’ll have to fight.

And then it’ll be Bjorn’s blood splattered on the ground.

He lets his eyes scan the crowd, wondering what will happen first. Will someone agree? Will someone kneel before him? Or will Bjorn step forward first and raise his challenge?

Bjorn steps forward before anyone else does, taking long, confident steps so that he stands in front of Askeladd.

Askeladd stares at him, long and hard.

He isn’t expecting Bjorn to kneel, but he does. A part of his brain simply can’t even process it, clicking away as it tries to snap the pieces into place. The other part of his brain knows what to do, and he accepts Bjorn’s allegiance as others quickly follow suit.

The band is his, and his mind still can’t accept it.

* * *

 

When Bjorn sits with him for dinner that night, it’s the first time they’ve sat together in public. People look at them for a moment, and then look away. They have no idea the truth of it. They have no idea that he and Bjorn have been plotting together since the day he joined.

“You were playing,” Bjorn says between gulps of ale.

Askeladd doesn’t look up from his own drink, already exhausted. He wants to sleep, but his brain still hasn’t quite processed what’s happened.

“Playing?” He says.

“You could have killed him twelve times over in the time it took. That last move was _far_  above the level of skill of the rest of it. You slipped up and showed off,” Bjorn remarks, giving him a pointed look. “You were holding back. Making yourself look weaker than you are.”

It’s the truth, and Askeladd lets out a snort.

“What if I was?”

Bjorn seems to dwell on the question for a long, long moment before finally shrugging.

“I wouldn’t know. I have no head for these kind of games, Askeladd. If you want to play with your food, then so be it,” Bjorn finally says. “It was just an observation.”

Askeladd has no idea what to make of it. He doesn’t understand why Bjorn hasn’t simply challenged him, and after winding himself in circles since the moment he cut Geir’s throat, he simply asks.

“Don’t _you_  want to be in charge?”

Bjorn stares at him in obvious shock for a moment before he bursts out laughing.

“Is _that_  what you thought? Thor’s hammer _no_ , Askeladd. I wouldn’t take the job if you paid me all the gold in the world,” Bjorn says, looking deeply amused by the very idea of it.

Askeladd stares, his eyebrows furrowing as he stares at Bjorn. He wants to ask _why_ \--to just _ask_ why the hell he doesn’t want it--and then decides against asking. He should know. He should be able to figure things out without needing Bjorn to explain things to him like a child.

Bjorn is happy playing second fiddle because it keeps him out of the line of fire. He’s happier following orders than making plans. He is smart, but he has no interest in the kind of subtle machinations that Askeladd _lives_  for, preferring his time on the battlefield.

He is perfect in every way.


End file.
